


No Reservations

by MissViolet



Series: The "No" Series [6]
Category: House M.D.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-20
Updated: 2010-07-20
Packaged: 2017-10-10 16:50:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/101939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissViolet/pseuds/MissViolet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's House's birthday and Wilson wants to celebrate. Naughtiness ensues. Warnings for light drug use (marijuana) and light bondage, teasing, and denial.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Reservations

House sat moodily on his sofa, trying to convince himself that this was exactly what he wanted to be doing. Just himself, a bottle of scotch, and a handrolled cigar. He'd have a nip or two, watch the game, maybe order a pizza, and then smoke his cigar leisurely. It would be perfect. Yet he sat still, the bottle untouched, lost in thought. The doorbell rang. He took his time answering it.

"Yes?" he said to Wilson standing on his doorstep. He knew he was being ungracious about it, though he was secretly delighted to see his old friend.

Wilson pushed past him, ignoring the cool reception. He was carrying a brown paper bag, wearing jeans and that soft green flannel shirt that always made House want to cozy up to him. "Don't be so glum," he said. "It only comes once a year."

"How did you know it's my birthday?"

Wilson looked at him blandly. "Have I ever missed your birthday, House? Where do you think you got that cigar?"

House suddenly remembered the cigar, tucked into his jacket pocket, during a dreary morning at the hospital last year. He'd pulled an all-nighter, Wilson had just returned from a conference and was bleary with jet-lag. But he still found time to wish House a happy birthday, and later he found the cigar in his jacket. It was Wilson's understated style that spoke to his emotions, not the cigar itself, but the covert way that he had slipped it into his pocket.

"Thanks for coming, Wilson," he said simply, and he limped back to the couch. Wilson followed, pulling a bottle out of a brown paper bag.

"I brought you a birthday present," he said, placing it on the coffee table. The bottle was rounded, of beautifully cut glass, and the stopper was a tiny silver horse and rider.

"Blanton's Single Barrel Bourbon. You know I prefer scotch."

"Yeah, well, I like bourbon, so bottoms up," said Wilson from the kitchen, fetching two glasses from House's cupboard. He knew House was feeling a little sorry for himself because it was his birthday. It was his tendency, and that's why Wilson made a point of remembering the occasion, to show him in some small way that he would always be his friend.

He set the glasses on the table and opened the bottle, handing the silver stopper to House, who examined it curiously. "Cute," he said finally.

"Well worth the effort to find this, just to hear you use the word cute," said Wilson, pouring two neat shots. He handed one to House, then touched his glass to House's lightly.

"To many happy returns," said Wilson, sipping the whiskey. House took a cautious taste and then another. "Smooth. It tastes like caramel."

"It's the good stuff." Wilson set his glass on the table and slid closer to his friend to kiss him softly. "Happy birthday, House."

"Thanks," said House humbly. He was too proud to admit that he had been feeling lonely, but he couldn't hide the fact that he was glad to see Wilson. He rested his head on Wilson's shoulder, enjoying the feel of the soft flannel of his shirt. Wilson in his weekend clothes was such a hunk; casual shirt clinging to his broad shoulders, top few buttons open, faded jeans just tight enough to outline his muscular legs. House realized he was unconsciously stroking Wilson's thigh, nuzzling against his shoulder like a satisfied housecat. He was practically purring with the sensual comfort of being so close to Wilson. He sat up, took a deep draught of whiskey, and caught Wilson looking at him with a bemused expression.

"So it's your birthday," said Wilson with a devilish smile. "What say we celebrate by making out like horny teenagers?" House felt his heart thudding a little. It was still so new and fresh, making out with Wilson, twining their bodies together, feeling his friend's hard muscles tensing and trembling with pleasure, coming together in a frenzy of dirty talk and afterwards, the cautious whispered words of affection. The prospect of doing this again made his heart pound, his breath quicken.

Wilson wasn't waiting for an answer. He leaned over to kiss him, just slowly, feeling the electrical attraction of their bodies slightly touching. House was enjoying the soft kiss; Wilson's lips were full and rosy like a girl's, and each time they kissed, House felt the spark, the heat beginning somewhere in his lower back, pooling downward. He opened his mouth, wanting more, and Wilson obligingly slipped a hand around the back of his neck, slipped his tongue slowly into House's mouth, and suddenly they were really kissing.

"Oh, yeah," whispered Wilson, pausing for a moment.

"Mmm," said House, but he was impatient, he leaned forward again, lips parted, to meet Wilson in another hot, slow kiss, tongue twining suggestively, stirring up all the passion in his heart. House slipped his arms around Wilson's waist, caressing his ass as they kissed, slipping his hands under his flannel shirt to touch his bare skin, distracting Wilson so that his mouth went slack, his hand dropped from House's neck, and he sighed with pleasure as House stroked his lower back, fingers dipping below the waistband of his jeans. Then House was kissing him again, lightly, teasingly, so that he opened his mouth eagerly, wanting more.

"I've got something for you," said Wilson breathlessly, and he moved one of House's hands to the front of his jeans, so that he could feel how his cock stiffened as they kissed.

"Mmm, the best kind of birthday present," said House, and he rested his hand lightly on Wilson's cock while he sipped at his glass of bourbon.

"So what are your plans tonight, _ah_, aside from getting me off?" asked Wilson, struggling to keep his voice steady as House rubbed slow circles over his cock, making his jeans feel suddenly much too tight.

"I was thinking of getting really, really stoned," said House.

"On Vicodin and bourbon?"

"I have a little something more," replied House, and let his hand slip from Wilson's overheated groin. He picked up the cigar cylinder, unscrewed the bottom, and tilted it so that a tightly-rolled joint slid out onto his palm. Wilson picked it up and examined it curiously. "This looks familiar," he said. "Did you steal it from my medical stash?"

"I can't reveal my sources," said House. "Let's just say that I took it from someone who won't miss it. And who can't roll for shit."

Wilson rolled his eyes. He suspected House had stolen it from his office, but he hadn't bothered to count the joints he gave to his terminally ill patient a few months ago. Mainly he was surprised that House had saved it for so long.

"Are you going to smoke it now?" asked Wilson.

"Yeah, if you will, too."

"I'm not a drug addict."

"It's not a gateway drug, Wilson. Don't believe all that _Reefer Madness_ propaganda. And if you freak out, don't worry. I won't let you fling yourself from a rooftop."

"I've smoked pot before, House," said Wilson dismissively.

"Yes, but you didn't inhale."

"How could you possibly know that?"

House shrugged. "I just know you, Wilson."

"Maybe not as much as you think. Light it up, I'll toke with you." Wilson didn't particularly want to get stoned, but he wanted House to have a good time on his birthday. Deep down, he knew that he was doing this only to please his friend, but he never would have put it in so many words.

House lit the joint and took a couple of deep drags before passing it to Wilson, who puffed lightly on it. "Make sure to inhale this time," said House. "Here, I'll give you a shotgun."

"No, that's alright," said Wilson hastily.

"I insist," said House, taking the joint from his hand. He gently put the lit end in his mouth, cupping it carefully with his lips, so as not to burn himself, and held the other end to Wilson's lips. "Open up, here it comes," he said, and blew gently on the lit ember inside his mouth, forcing the smoke into Wilson's lips in a thin, dense stream. Wilson took most of it, but finally started to cough and House stopped blowing and took the joint out of his mouth.

"That's a way to get stoned real fast," he said. "Few more of those and you'll be a mile high."

"No thanks," said Wilson. "I've had enough." He was lightheaded, feeling time stretched out, and suddenly his sense of taste was intensified. He picked up his glass and drank eagerly, the whiskey hitting the back of his throat like a fiery stream of caramel-flavored heat.

"It's potent," said House, puffing on the joint slowly. He paused for a long time, holding the hit, before finally blowing it out in a long cloud. "Whew, I'm lit, too. I thought you were just a lightweight, but any more and you'll have to peel me off the floor." He tapped out the joint in the ashtray and put the rest of it back in the cigar cylinder.

They sat back on the sofa together, and this time, Wilson rested his head against House's shoulder. He looked up at the ceiling, and it seemed to be closer than it should have been. He could see every bump and flake of the paint. House was near, one arm around him, and it was wonderful to feel his body so close.

"Anything else you want for your birthday?" he said, turning his head so his lips fit quite naturally into the hollow of House's neck.

"Yeah, now that you mention it," said House, and he laughed softly. Stoned, thought Wilson, and he leaned closer, rested his lips on House's collarbone, brushing against his neck.

"I want you to, oh, I want you..." he continued, but Wilson was licking him delicately, tasting all the sensitive places, making him shiver. He kissed Wilson full on the lips, and maneuvered his good leg so that it was slung over Wilson's, and he could feel that Wilson was half-hard. "This is so good stoned," he said, and kissed Wilson hot and slow, mouth open, tongue twining. Wilson felt the sensation intensely; House's soft lips, the heat of his body as he straddled him, House was gently rocking into him, and he shifted his hips, trying to increase the delightful heat spreading through his groin.

"It is good," he said breathlessly. House was biting his neck, and then kissing and tonguing each little bite, blurring the line between pleasure and pain, and Wilson was trying not to whimper aloud.

"It slows everything down, makes it more vivid," continued House, and he was running his fingers through Wilson's hair, resting his hand on the back of his head as he pulled him close for deep kissing. "Kissing you, it's..." and House paused, too stoned to think of the right words.

"Slow? Intense?" said Wilson, teasingly.

"Yeah, both," said House, and he shut him up with more kisses, relishing the way Wilson panted beneath him, lips parted, skin flushed. He couldn't stop himself from moaning sweetly as he kissed him. Wilson was so willing, so sensual; he abandoned himself to the soft lips, the silky hair between his fingers, the smooth, hard muscles of his arms. House settled himself more firmly over Wilson, who groaned a little as their cocks aligned, and shifted his hips to increase the delicious friction.

"I want to make you feel good," he said, "for your birthday. What do you want me to do?" he asked, hands slipping to House's waist, down to his ass, cupping it to bring him closer. "Should I go down on my knees, suck you real slow?" Wilson enjoyed the way House's breath caught at his dirty proposition. "Want to come in my mouth?" he whispered in House's ear, thrusting his hips upwards to grind their erections together.

"Oh... Wilson, oh..." and House was caressing his shoulders, his arms, sliding his hands between the sofa cushions and Wilson's lower back, drawing him closer.   
"Tell me what you want," whispered Wilson, grabbing House's ass, squeezing it firmly, and sliding his hand down to his upper thigh. "Do you have a fantasy?"

"I want to tie you up."

Wilson froze, trying to conceal his complete and utter shock, but it was impossible. His hand stilled, his mouth was hanging open. House was drawing away from him, leaning back on the sofa, looking apologetic.

"You asked, so I told. We don't have to."

Wilson's heart was accelerating, his mouth suddenly dry. He never thought of himself as a deviant, was reassured that his sexuality was normal, except for this recent thing with making love to his best friend. But really, that wasn't anything too wild and crazy, if 5% of the population was doing it, how unusual could it be?

"What are you going to do to me, if I let you tie me?"

"I want to tease you," said House, mind painting a vivid picture of the erotic torture he wanted to inflict upon him. "But only if you want me to."

Wilson unbuckled his belt, slid it out from the loops of his waistband. He folded it carefully in half, offered it to House almost ceremoniously. "Use this," he said.

"Are you sure? No reservations?"

"You'll untie me if I ask you to?"

House nodded. "Of course. We only have to go as far as you want to." He took the belt from Wilson, who leaned back onto the sofa and said, "Then consider it a birthday gift."

House clicked a knob on the lamp on the end table, lowering the lighting by several settings. He leaned down to lift Wilson's arms above his head, tied the belt around his wrists, but not too tightly. "How is that? All right?" he asked, and Wilson nodded. It didn't feel that sexy to him, to be tied up, but he loved the way House was looking at him, eyes raking over his body, mouth slightly parted with undisguised lust.

"Now that is a helluva birthday present," said House, and he stroked Wilson' leg through his faded jeans, squeezed his biceps meaningfully. He unbuttoned the top two buttons of Wilson's shirt, slipped his hand in to caress his neck and collarbone. "I'm going to unwrap you slowly," he said, sipping from his glass of whiskey.

"Slow, okay, yeah," said Wilson, a little nervously.

"Don't worry, I'll make you feel good," said House reassuringly. He put his glass down, leaned in close, and kissed Wilson, trailing his fingers down his neck, behind his neck, savouring his sweet lips, the silky feel of his hair. He unbuttoned the rest of Wilson's shirt, so that his hands had full access to his heated body, and caressed Wilson's chest, his ribcage, sliding up to tease his nipples, dipping down below the waistband of his jeans. He stroked the shirt away from Wilson, exposing his pale and rosy skin, almost glowing in the soft lamplight.

"You've got a gorgeous body, Wilson," he said appreciatively.

"Me?" Wilson laughed, surprised. He was fit, but hardly buff, and lately, he had been skipping workouts and eating too much rich takeout for dinner.

"I love it," said House, bending down to touch his lips to Wilson's neck, his collarbone and chest. "So sexy," he breathed, laying kisses on Wilson's nipples, teasing them with his tongue, enjoying how he flinched and his breath quickened. He kissed his mouth, teasing open Wilson's lips with his tongue, biting them softly and suggestively until Wilson was arching up, hips pushing forward, one leg hooked around House's calf, trying to steer him closer.

"I'm going to make you come all tied up like this," whispered House, and Wilson whimpered softly in expectation. He forgot entirely about his constraints; his thoughts were only for wanting House, his lanky body bending low over him, the heat from his lips, hand resting on the back of his neck. He was high, senses sharpened by the unfamiliar feeling of being stoned, being bound, and already hard with the thought of what House was going to do to him. When House withdrew and settled back on the couch, it was all he could do not to moan in disappointment.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Having a smoke," said House calmly. He was using a Swiss Army Knife to trim the end of the cigar, lighting it slowly and with great enjoyment. He sat perpendicular to Wilson, pulling Wilson's legs over his lap, puffing contentedly on the cigar.

"Do you have any shoes that aren't loafers?" asked House, slipping off Wilson's shoes and letting them plunk to the floor.

"I have tennis shoes."

"Nobody calls them 'tennis shoes' anymore," said House derisively. He was rubbing Wilson's ankle with one hand, and the feeling was surprisingly sensual. House paused to sip from his whiskey, and then began working on the other ankle.

"They're for tennis, hmm...mmn," and Wilson's words trailed off into a little moan of contentment at House's ministrations.

"You've got nice legs," said House, rubbing his hands up and down Wilson's legs, squeezing his calves, stroking his thighs, perilously close to Wilson's groin, but not close enough. "Must be all that tennis." House was shifting around, still smoking, until he was straddling Wilson again, maneuvering his hips until he could feel Wilson's hard cock beneath him. He reached down, unbuttoned Wilson's fly, slipped two fingers into the waistband of Wilson's jeans. Wilson caught his breath in expectation.

"I want to tease you a little bit," said House, almost confessionally, "till you're aching for it." He puffed on the cigar, leaning down to blow the smoke all over Wilson's chest, and the sight of the smoke swirling over his bare skin was oddly arousing. He dipped one finger into his whiskey, trailed it over Wilson's mouth, slipping it inside. Wilson was hardly aware of opening his mouth, sucking tightly on House's finger, until he realized House was jerking his hips a little, thrusting his finger in and out of his mouth, and then the finger was replaced by House's lips, smoky and heated with alcohol, and they were kissing again, House rubbing his wet finger over first one, then the other, of Wilson's nipples, making him sigh and moan as House's tongue probed him, teeth nipping at his lower lip, one hand slipping through Wilson's hair.

They broke apart momentarily. House was panting slightly, eyes burning into Wilson's with blatant lust. He looked at Wilson's straining body, his wet half-parted lips, the growing bulge in his jeans. "You're such a stud," he said, and Wilson wasn't sure if he was joking. Then he rested the cigar in the ashtray, slid down the couch, maneuvering himself so that he was inside Wilson's legs, and bent down to blow into the crotch of his jeans, feeling Wilson's cock harden underneath his lips. Just blowing, nothing more, but the warm wet heat was enough to make Wilson gasp and buck his hips forward.

"You like that?" asked House, though it was perfectly obvious by his soft whimpers, and the way he thrust his hips up to meet House's mouth, that Wilson adored it. He bent again, opening his mouth to encompass the growing bulge in Wilson's crotch, and fastened his mouth over it tightly, exhaled forcefully, and Wilson groaned and his hips jerked. "Do it again," he said, voice heavy with lust.

"Maybe," said House teasingly, and he sat up, sipped at his whiskey, took another puff from his cigar. Wilson realized that House was high, euphoric even, from the joint, the few shots of bourbon, plus whatever Vicodin he had already taken. When he bent to kiss him, Wilson tasted every vice upon his lips, and he loved it, he opened his mouth, panting each time House's tongue met his own.

It seemed as if they had been kissing for hours, and all Wilson knew was the soft velvety feel of House's lips, the scratchiness of his stubble, the lovely subtle sensations of his House's fingers teasing his nipples to sharp points, his cock straining against his jeans, rubbing against his friend in all the right places, driving him mad with desire. Then House was bending low, kissing the damp patch over his straining cock, blowing hot breath on it again, and Wilson was groaning and thrusting his hips, whispering _fuck_ and _yeah_ and _please_ shamelessly.

"Take it out," he pleaded, and his legs were shaking with lust.

"Well, all right," said House, and how could he be so calm when Wilson was on fire? "Let me just put this out," and he was stubbing out his cigar in the ashtray, drinking the last of the whiskey from his glass, in no particular hurry. He moved in close, lowered his head, and that Wilson's heart began to pound in anticipation of those clever lips on his naked cock. But at the last moment, he slid himself upwards, so that their bodies were tightly pressed together, and House was pulling off his tee shirt. Wilson wanted to touch him more than anything, he thought it would be pure bliss to slip his hands around his waist, pull him closer, unzip his jeans and slide their throbbing cocks together, but of course he was constrained, at House's mercy.

House whispered in Wilson's ear, "Changed my mind. I want to tease you just a little more." He lay on top of Wilson, pressing their bare chests together, leaning heavily on Wilson so that he could feel how his prick was straining against his jeans. Then he was riding Wilson, rocking into him slowly, skimming his fingers up Wilson's rib-cage and to his neck, tweaking his nipples, pressing their hips together tightly so that Wilson could not stop himself from moaning and crying out, House was such a godawful cock-tease.

"I can't stand it, I'll come in my jeans," he gasped out.

"Let me just take care of one more thing." said House, bending to kiss Wilson briefly. Wilson groaned in frustration. He was panting, his cock throbbing, and he could feel his heartbeat low in his stomach. But House was unzipping his own jeans, sliding down his boxers and pulling out his cock, stiff and slick. He wrapped his hand around it, squeezing gently, groaning softly with unabashed pleasure as he stroked himself.

"I know you like to watch," he said, fondling the swollen head of his cock with his palm.

"What...I don't...don't..." Wilson said, but he knew that his erotic torture was not quite over.

"So watch," said House, and slid one hand under Wilson's chin, tilted his head up, looked directly in his eyes. Then his hand squeezed his cock again, slid down to his balls, caressing them, and back up to the leaking, throbbing head. "Oh, that's good," he said closing his eyes, jerking himself a little faster, "_Fuck_, Wilson, I do want to come so bad..."

"Do it," said Wilson, painfully erect, feeling that one of them had to come soon or else they'd both die of the heat.

"You first, Jimmy," said House, but his voice was breaking, he couldn't stop stroking himself, his breath caught, and Wilson was sure he was going to come, but at the last moment, he let his prick drop from his hand, and lay on the sofa with his face resting over the damp patch in Wilson's jeans, breathing hard. Wilson moaned at the sound of his flying being unzipped. House had been teasing him for over an hour, and he was hypersensitive, prick aching to be touched, a hair's breadth from coming uncontrollably. Finally House was sliding Wilson's jeans down to his hips, pulling his cock out of his boxers. He was close to the edge, wanting it so badly, and he tried to thrust his straining cock closer to House's lips, but his jeans bunched around his hips restricted him. He was even more immobilized than before, but it didn't matter because House was kissing his inner thighs, his stomach, inching his way closer to his cock, so stiff it was pointing straight upwards, and finally his hot lips were enclosing the tip, making Wilson jerk his hips in a vain effort to force his cock deeper. And then House was doing it, licking and tonguing him so slowly, it was agonizing, he was trapped between his tied wrists, his jeans binding his hips, and House's hot wet mouth, finally sucking him so deep, he cried out with intense pleasure he could not control, it was washing over him, the sweet ache in his cock and balls, spreading to his ass, his thighs, until his entire lower body was trembling with barely-contained desire to come. House was deep-throating him, suctioning his prick in and out tightly, and Wilson, who had waited so long, suddenly didn't want it to end. It was so good, House's wet lips gliding up and down his rigid prick, his clever tongue sliding along the sensitive head, making Wilson cry out, long agonizing moans of helpless pleasure as House sucked him artfully. He wanted it to last, but House was sucking him faster, bobbing his head up and down, moaning around his cock, and his mouth was so tight, so hot, in a matter of seconds, Wilson was going over the edge.

"Ah, it's coming!" he gasped incoherently, trying to warn House of his impending crisis, but House just took him even deeper, until with a short sob, a hard clench of his ass, he was creaming as House sucked him hard and tight, and he was helpless, restricted in his ecstasy, thighs trembling as his cock pulsed. House was taking it all, and Wilson moaned as the intense pleasure of his climax seemed to go on and on. Finally House couldn't take anymore, Wilson's come was trickling down his lips, so he let his cock drop from his mouth and took it in his hand, squeezing forth one last agonizing jet before it was finally too much and Wilson begged him to stop.

House straightened up. His dick was so hard, it was like a heavy, almost painful weight between his legs. He wanted to kneel over Wilson, shoot all over him, but it was too awkward for him with his leg already aching. Instead he straddled him, sitting on his waist, rubbing himself against Wilson's damp spent prick. He squeezed his cock tightly, looking down at Wilson, still panting for breath. "Look at me, Wilson," he said, and leaned down to tip his chin upwards, to force his gaze. "I'm so hard for you, it hurts," and he was stroking himself, quick and dirty, and then he was swearing, his hand gliding faster up and down his cock, wet with Wilson's come, and his body was tensing, and Wilson, even in his spent pleasure, was sighing with delight at the sight of House arching his back, squeezing his cock almost roughly, jerking his come all over Wilson's belly and thighs, groaning as he stroked himself to completion, and finally he stopped coming, but his cock was still half-hard. He collapsed onto Wilson, trying to recover his breath. "Ah, Jimmy," he said, breathing heavily in his ear, resting his lips lightly on Wilson's neck. His hand was between them, rubbing circles on Wilson's belly, slick with their mutual spendings. And House was untying him, rubbing his wrists where the leather had bound him, and Wilson found that his arms were a little sore as he brought them down and around House's waist, pulling him closer, then they were kissing slowly, and House still gasping a bit, coming down from his hard climax.

"Was it everything you wanted?" asked Wilson. But House was silent, pensive. Finally he said, "You know, I think it was hotter in principle than in execution. Maybe a fantasy is better as just a fantasy. How about for you?"

"I loved it," said Wilson unexpectedly, and House looked at him curiously. "You had my hips constrained by my jeans, and I couldn't move my arms, and I was so stoned... I came so hard. I don't know why but that made it last so long. It was really, really good," said Wilson, and he laughed softly, surprised at his own new-found kinkiness.

"Mm, Wilson, aren't you naughty?" said House playfully. He was resting his full length on Wilson's body, and he slid his arms down to Wilson's hips, held him tight, drew him close so they were pressed together. Wilson could feel that House was still half-hard, and from the way he was kissing him, teasing his mouth open with his tongue, biting his lower lip gently, rocking into him like a randy teenager, he knew they weren't quite done for the evening.

"You know, it's still my birthday for another two hours," said House suggestively.

"By all means, let's keep celebrating," said Wilson.


End file.
